


our hearts may have been cracked and broken but duck-tape'll hold just fine

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [139]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, what's this? me? writing something BOTH angsty and soft?, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22456927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: “I tried to kill everyone,” Newt says, casually, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet; full of nervous energy.The cashier blinks at him; purses her lips. “Uh, sir…?” she says, “I asked if have a Walmart membership card?”Newt opens his mouth; realises he’s been monologuingsilently—probably for the better, honestly—, and says, “Um. No, uh. I don’t. Thanks, though, uh…” he checks her name-tag—"Anne.“The woman gives him a flat grimace. "That’ll be ten-fifty-four,” she intones, and after Newt pulls out a few cash bills, hands him his change with an equally flat, “have a good day, sir.”
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [139]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	our hearts may have been cracked and broken but duck-tape'll hold just fine

**Author's Note:**

> [@drsahrah1281](https://drsarah1281.tumblr.com/) asked: "I wish you were dead. But then I would hate myself for waiting by your grave instead of the phone."

“I tried to kill everyone,” Newt says, casually, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet; full of nervous energy.

The cashier blinks at him; purses her lips. “Uh, sir…?” she says, “I asked if have a Walmart membership card?”

Newt opens his mouth; realises he’s been monologuing _silently_ —probably for the better, honestly—, and says, “Um. No, uh. I don’t. Thanks, though, uh…” he checks her name-tag—"Anne.“

The woman gives him a flat grimace. "That’ll be ten-fifty-four,” she intones, and after Newt pulls out a few cash bills, hands him his change with an equally flat, “have a good day, sir.”

“You too!” Newt chirps back, and takes the bag, fighting the urge to clutch it to his chest and look around furtively. He’s not a—a—a _criminal._ Well; not as of a few weeks ago, anyway, but he’s so used to…having to _hide_ things. Ten years’ habits are hard to break.

He takes a long, deep breath, and opens his eyes, staring at the white-painted walls, and the fucking _stupid_ Walmart sign—it’s 20-fucking-36, why the _hell_ does Walmart still exist? And why haven’t they changed their logo to something less _annoying?_ —, and loosens his grip on the handles of the plastic bag.

There. Now; he just has to…walk. Out. Into the parking-lot. Where there may be other people.

That…may be a little bit of a problem.

Or; rather; a lot of a problem, if his heart pounding in his ears is _anything_ to go by. Just. Just a _little._

He sucks in another breath. Right; he can deal with this. Self-soothing. De-escalation. Distraction? Maybe not that one. His brain _might_ just implode if it gets one more bit of stimulus too much, frankly, honestly, really, and maybe he should try and slow his train of thought a bit. It sounds. Frantic.

The bathroom, thankfully, is just a bit to his right and a few steps ahead, so he makes it in there just fine; tries to ignore the shitty flickering lights as he splashes water on his face and breathes, _breathes,_ one-two-three-four ( _onetwothreefour_ ). The water on his face. The cold of the porcelain against his skin where he rests his hands, squeezing tightly; imagines roots reaching out of his feet into the ground, grounding (hah) him.

The shaking eases up a bit. That’s. That’s good.

When he looks up at the reflection in the mirror, the image is blurred; he realises he hadn’t taken off his glasses before he splashed water onto his face. Ah. Well. That would explain…some things, huh?

He sets the bag down, finally—should have done that _first,_ now come to think of it, but hindsight is 20/20, right?—, and pulls off his glasses with a sigh; scrubs them dry with the hem of his shirt and slips them back on.

There; all good.

He flips his wrist, instinctively, to check his watch and then remembers he doesn’t have a watch anymore; sighs. Walmart should have a clock around here…somewhere.

They do.

It’s one in the morning.

When did he leave?

It feels like it’s only been maybe fifteen minutes since he left, but time is a _tricky_ fucker. It’s probably been like an hour or—two, or three, and he hopes it hasn’t been, but either way, Hermann’s. Probably worried.

He should check in.

He left his phone at home.

Thank fuck Walmart sells burner-phones, huh?

It takes him a few tries, sitting out in the parking-lot, in the car, shivering in the dark, to dial Hermann’s number. It’s the fucking keypad—he’s used to smart-phones, and, unlike Hermann, his fingers are _not_ slender, and _49 38821 78 2989_ is _hard_ to type out on a phone that looks suspiciously like his first Nokia.

He does manage it, though, finally; the device pressed against his ear as he listens to the ringing go on, and on, and _on_ —

Hermann’s voice crackles, staticky, over the line. “Hello?”

Newt breathes a sigh of relief. “Hey,” he says, and hopes his voice is steadier than he thinks it is. On the other end, Hermann gives a sharp inhale, and Newt plows on. “Hey. Uh, just—checking in to tell you I’m alright. Sorry I—didn’t text you. I left my phone at…at home.”

“I— _saw,_ ” Hermann says, strangled. “It—I was _worried._ ”

He still _is,_ if his voice is anything to go by, and Newt reminds himself that he needs to _not_ start catastrophising. “Sorry,” he murmurs, instead. “I—yeah. Like I said, I was just checking in. Do you need anything else before I come back? I’ve got—” He checks the bag. “—a tomato, a thing of yogurt, and some flour. Oh, and mushrooms.”

“No, that’s…that’s all,” Hermann says. “I—thank you, Newton.”

“Yeah,” Newt says.

“Drive safe,” Hermann says, and then the line clicks dead.

Newt sighs; squares his shoulders. Sets the bag back in the passenger seat.

The drive back’s uneventful. At this time of night, there aren’t many people out, so the most he sees is a racoon that scurries away before he gets within fifty yards of it, which he only notices because its eyes flash like two little glowing balls in the headbeams before it darts away.

The lights are on when he pulls into the driveway, and he can see Hermann’s silhouette in the window.

He doesn’t even knock on the door before it opens, and Hermann’s face is staring back at his own, and his brows are drawn together and his eyes are red and Newt’s first thought is _oh, he’s been_ crying, and then, _fuck, he’s been crying because of_ me.

“Newton,” Hermann says, and his voice—cracking and thick—only confirms it.

“Hermann,” Newt says, measuredly, and edges inside, setting the bag down on the counter.

There’s silence, and then Newt says, “I’m, um, sorry about—”

“Sometimes I wish you were dead,” Hermann bursts out, and that silences Newt quickly enough, and he turns to find Hermann scrubbing furiously at his face, and he looks— _terrified._ “Sometimes,” he says, again, and Newt can see him swallow. He stops and starts again. “I wish you were dead. But then I would hate myself for waiting by your grave instead of the phone. God, Newton, I—”

His voice breaks. “I woke up, and you were gone, and you’d left your phone, and I was so—so _worried,_ I—”

He stops again, taking in a shaking breath.

“Oh,” Newt says, and the word crumples a little on itself, because, _shit,_ he hadn’t thought about that. “Hermann, I—I’m sorry. I just—I woke up, and I needed to. To _go,_ just—out, and I—I thought I’d do you a favour and stop by Walmart and grab the stuff on your list, but I didn't—”

“Didn’t _think?_ ” Hermann snaps, and Newt falls silent. “Newton,” he says, and sighs. “I—I’m sorry for snapping. I was just—God. I was so. So _worried._ Please don’t…don’t do that again.”

“I can't— _stay,_ ” Newt manages. “Not at—not when I’m feeling like. Like _that,_ Hermann, I—”

Hermann shakes his head. “No, not what—not what I meant, I mean…” he pauses; tugs at the hem of his pyjama-shirt. “Just—leave a _note,_ maybe, darling?”

“Oh,” Newt says, and this time, it’s _relief._ “Oh. I. Okay,” he says.

“Thank you,” Hermann murmurs, and then crosses the space in front of them; pulls him into a hug. “Thank you,” he says, again, “for. For getting those things. I’m sorry about what I said. I don’t want you dead, alright, Newton?”

Newt nods, not quite trusting himself to speak, right now, but he relaxes against Hermann.

The other seems to understand, and keeps holding him, gently; presses a soft kiss to his temple. “Let’s get to bed,” he says, “it’s late. You must be exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Newt manages, finally. “I—yeah. I am.”

He lets Hermann lead him back to the warm, comforting darkness of the bedroom, flicking out the lights behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
